


Ultimate Intimacy

by TiffanyC1



Series: Hodge Podge Musketeer One Shots [2]
Category: The Musketeers (2014)
Genre: Gen, Hurt d'Artagnan, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Implied/Referenced Torture, Other, d'Artagnan Whump, d'Artagnan/Athos if you squint
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-01
Updated: 2019-12-01
Packaged: 2021-02-26 02:21:27
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,176
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21625978
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TiffanyC1/pseuds/TiffanyC1
Summary: Aramis and Porthos get a look at just how close Athos and d'Artagnan are.
Series: Hodge Podge Musketeer One Shots [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1593079
Comments: 13
Kudos: 107





	Ultimate Intimacy

**Author's Note:**

> This was inspired by reading in a book that, in the old days, to be on a Christian/given name basis with someone was considered VERY close. 
> 
> Translations:  
> Hih de Puta (Occitan): Son of a bitch  
> Maman (French): Mother, Mama

It was a general rule of thumb in the Musketeers that you didn’t pry into your comrades’ pre-regiment lives. Everyone had their reasons for being there, everyone had something in their past that they weren’t proud of. Most of the time, Musketeers didn’t even know each other’s name. Some went by their family names, others used false names to hide from their pasts. To know a comrade’s given name was a sign of ultimate intimacy and friendship.

***********************

When did d’Artagnan become such a good shot? Aramis could remember when the boy’s reloading skills, or lack thereof, were the source of much amusement amongst their little group, but somewhere, d’Artagnan had become quick as lightning at firing and reloading. Aramis would’ve been much more appreciative of his friend’s skill, if it wasn’t for the fact that that skill was being used on him.

It had been a simple mission. D’Artagnan had been sent to Bordeaux, alone, with a letter to the garrison commander. Whatever it was about was of upmost secrecy, but the King had chosen d’Artagnan because, as a Gascon, it was felt that he would be able to blend in better. Only, it hadn’t worked out that way. D’Artagnan had been captured by the Spanish and after two weeks, the rest of the Inseparables had been sent to find him. They weren’t sure just what had happened to d’Artagnan over the two weeks he’d been missing, but going by just what he could see, Aramis would guess that, at the very least, d’Artagnan had been beaten and/or tortured. Whatever had happened, it had left the young Musketeer extremely unpredictable and scared, not a great combination in Aramis’ book. Even worse, whatever had been done had left d’Artagnan unsure on what reality was, confusing Aramis and Porthos for his, now dead, tormentors.

“Maybe we could storm in and knock him out,” Porthos said, as they were hunkered down outside the armory where d’Artagnan had hidden, after being forced out by the young Musketeer’s surprisingly good aim.

“I’d rather not have him testing out his aim on me,” Aramis replied, cursing every saint that d’Artagnan’s skills as a Musketeer hadn’t been dimmed by his ordeal.

“What’s going on,” said Athos, who had been handling the removal of the remaining prisoners, having felt that Aramis and Porthos would be able to get d’Artagnan free and give him a cursory examination, “Where’s d’Artagnan?”

“The Whelp is proving very uncooperative,” Porthos explained as another gunshot echoed and the sound of a musket ball hitting the door.

“What the hell?!” Athos said, having taken cover besides Porthos.

“d’Artagnan thinks WE’RE the Spanish bastards that have been holding him,” Porthos growled.

“So why are we in front of the armory?” Athos said, realizing where they were.

“He got away from us and holed up in there,” Aramis said.

Athos sat, silent for a minute, “Aramis, how badly do you think he’s injured?”

The medic shrugged, “I couldn’t say. Based on what I’ve observed, I’d say he’s got a concussion at the very least. The rest of it I can’t be sure of and there’s no way to tell how long he can last in there.” They all knew d’Artagnan would last a lot longer than an average person just from sheer stubbornness.

Athos seemed to make a decision, “Cover me, but don’t shoot unless there’s no other choice and not to kill.” He took off his weapons belt. He got to his feet and called into the room, “Charles? Charles, can you hear me?”

Aramis exchanged a confused look with Porthos, but neither questioned Athos just yet.

There was a confused sound from inside the armory, but no shots were fired, which might be a good sign.

“Charles, it’s Olivier. I’m going to come in, don’t shoot me!”

To Porthos and Aramis’ disbelief, Athos was able to get the door open without getting shot, but the scene that showed itself to them wasn’t hopeful. D’Artagnan had gotten himself into a corner of the room and had two, very shaky, pistols trained at the door, his big, brown, eyes wild with fear and confusion.

Athos carefully put his hands up, showing that he wasn’t armed, “Charles, put the pistols down. It’s over, you’re safe.”

D’Artagnan’s eyes narrowed, “How do you know my name, you _hih de puta_?”

“You told me once. You were knocked into a river and I almost lost you. You woke up and said that you’d heard your _maman_ calling your name. She always called you ‘Charlie’ and you said that it had been so long since anyone called you by your given name, you’d almost forgotten what it was.”

Aramis could see d’Artagnan’s grip on the pistols waver but, true to his stubborn nature, he refused to lower them. Athos saw the wavering too and pushed forward,

“That watch you wear, it was given to you by your father when you turned eighteen. It’s got an inscription in Occitan, and you’ve never told me what it says. Under your shirt, you wear a crucifix that your mother gave you after your confirmation, even after some boys played a prank on the priest and she thought you were involved.”

By this point, he’d been able to get close enough to d’Artagnan to get his hands on the pistols. “Your name is Charles d’Artagnan. You were born to Alexandre and Isabelle d’Artagnan of Lupiac in Gascony. You’re also one of my dearest friends and you saved my life by pulling me from my burning chateau.”

By this point, d’Artagnan’s grip on the pistols had loosened enough for Athos to get them out his hands with no trouble and threw them into a far corner of the room.

“Athos?” d’Artagnan whispered, as if still unsure that his mentor was really there.

Athos nodded, gently putting his hands on either side of d’Artagnan’s face, “I’m here. _We’re_ here. You’re safe.” Aramis and Porthos made sure to put themselves in their younger brother’s sight, so he’d know that they were all there. That was the trick.

D’Artagnan practically collapsed into Athos’ embrace, clinging to his mentor and older brother with all his might. Aramis and Porthos stayed near the door, sensing the very private moment, but wanting to remain nearby in case they were needed. They could hear the soft words Athos was whispering into the ear of their youngest, but little of it made sense to them.

Neither of them could find it in their hearts to be too offended or hurt by the realization that Athos and d’Artagnan were much closer than they’d realized. It didn’t hurt too much that d’Artagnan was only comfortable with Aramis looking him over as long as Athos was in sight, or that there were clearly wounds d’Artagnan didn’t want any of them to see. Their leader and their youngest had clearly found something in each other that they had been missing, just like they themselves had found in each other. It didn’t hurt their bond as brothers, as Musketeers, or as men. They were good.


End file.
